


I Need Your Love

by thecryoftheseagulls



Series: Logan Hawke [12]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dancing, Gay Bar, M/M, Marriage equality is a thing now and thus celebrating, also Anders' hips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:58:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4229697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryoftheseagulls/pseuds/thecryoftheseagulls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>so I can't help but think of Anders dancing every time Shaggy's 'I Need Your Love' comes on the radio, and then with the Supreme Court ruling, I had to combine the two into a random modern au drabble. </p>
<p>*throws rainbow colored confetti*</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need Your Love

June 26, 2015

The scene in Hogan’s is jovial that night, celebratory. There’s a huge rainbow colored banner behind the bar that reads #LOVEWINS, and every TV in the place is tuned to the news, which plays almost nonstop coverage of the Supreme Court ruling. Footage from the crowd outside the Supreme Court building, pictures of the first women to take advantage of the new law in Georgia, comments from people all around the country (and beyond; Canadians seem particularly excited). Of course, every so often one of the Republicans shows up and talks about how ‘profoundly disappointed’ they are, because the definition of marriage should so obviously be the prerogative of the state. These comments are unanimously met with boos and shelled peanuts thrown at the TVs.

For instance, when the door is closing behind Logan Hawke and he’s scanning the crowd for his friends, the governor of Idaho comes onscreen and starts spewing more of the same. The outcry is immediate, but loudest at the bar where Isabela is crowing,

“Oh, suck it, Butch!” and flipping off Butch Otter’s likeness in spectacular style.

It’s probably his laugh that gives him away, because Varric spins on the barstool next to her and grins, beckoning Logan over. Everyone’s there, Varric wearing his favorite ace pride shirt and Isabela in a lot of rainbow which almost clashes because the stripes are all going different directions, but doesn’t (and, predictably, no pants). She’s got her arm slung over Merrill’s shoulders and Fenris at Varric’s side looks sloshed already, not that that’s anything new, but he’s…he might actually be smiling. Grinning? Fenris as a happy drunk, now that’s new.

Logan slaps Varric on the shoulder and squeezes in between him and Bela when she squeals and hooks her free arm in his.

“Hawke!” Varric laughs. “’Bout time you showed up. Isabela was about ready to muster up a posse and drag you down here.”

Isabela tosses her head, her long hair cascading over her shoulder, and jabs Logan in the ribs with a finger.

“You’re damn right I was! We’re celebrating!” She slides a shot in front of Logan and with a shake of his head, he throws it back. When he looks back, there’s a calculating gleam in her eyes that is just a little too sharp for the level of intoxication she’s probably already reached.

“Oh, here we go,” Logan groans. Varric positively cackles.

“And d’you know what would be a perfect way to celebrate?” Bela asks slyly.

“What.” Logan says, not even bothering to make it sound like a question.

“Ooh, I know, I know!” Merrill giggles. “If we find a nice boy for Hawke to take home tonight?”

Isabela ruffles her short hair affectionately. “Right you are, sweet thing. You’re so smart.”

Hawke gives Varric a pleading look, and he lifts his hands.

“Don’t look at me. She gave up on me as a project ages ago.” Varric points at his shirt, his eyes twinkling. Logan groans again when he says, “But she does have a point there, Hawke.”

Logan leans onto the bar so he can look around Varric at Fenris, his last hope for refuge, but the tattooed man is bobbing his head in time to the music and looking around intently, not paying any attention at all to the conversation.

“So I was thinking, what about that one, or that one, he looks single.” Isabela starts pointing about the room at the candidates she’s already picked out, but Logan’s already not listening, because just past Fenris is a straight shot to a view of the dance floor. ‘Shut Up and Dance’ is just ending, and a dark-haired man plants a kiss on cheek of the blond man he’s been dancing with and steps away. But then the opening chords of Shaggy’s ‘I Need Your Love’ start playing over the speakers, and the blond grabs the other man’s hands and tries to pull him back, eyebrows lifting as he mouths please? please?

His dance partner isn’t having any of it, though Logan isn’t really sure why the fuck not, because the blond is beautiful. He’s got golden hair down to his chin, tied up in a half ponytail to keep the shorter bits out of his eyes, and day or two old stubble thick on his strong jaw. A sharp nose (kingly, Logan thinks, because if that’s not the word for it, he doesn’t know what is) draws attention to the man’s eyes, now brightened by a smile and pleading. The darker one shakes his head a few times and works to disentangle himself, and then the blond starts doing something with his hips and if Logan couldn’t look away a moment ago, he’s sure not able to tear his eyes off him anymore.

He’s wearing old ripped jeans, slung low on his hips, and his shirt (yellow, with FUCK THE PATRIARCHY emblazoned on the front) is riding up enough that Logan can see the sharp ridge of his hipbones. When it’s clear his dance partner isn’t going to stick around, the blond shrugs and throws his hands in his hair, his hips still swaying and he just…starts dancing by himself. Which would be awkward, probably, if it was anyone else, but he pulls it off, swaying from side to side, his hands in the air, then down in front of him, then back up, and always, always, that undulating motion with his hips which Logan finds absolutely maddening, like he’s some belly dancer from some Bollywood film. Logan is pretty sure he couldn’t move like that if he tried.

He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry.

Then Isabela’s lips are right next to his ear and he hears, “Mm, I could just eat him up, couldn’t you?” Logan jumps and Bela gives him a lazy smile. “Well, go on, he looks lonely,” she says. “If you don’t go, I’ll have to, and I don’t know how my Merrill will feel about that.” She winks.

Logan huffs, but then he’s looking at the blond again (or, more appropriately, his hips), and there’s something strange and warm curling in his belly as he nods.

“Yeah…all right,” he says, finding another shot in front of him and drinking it in one go before he stands.

Bela just grins, and turning in her arm Merrill gives him a double thumbs up.

let me love you oh oh oh Shaggy sings and Logan inches his way out on the dance floor, sidestepping a pair of women who aren’t paying much attention to anything except each other. When he turns to look for the blond again, the man is directly in front of him, and Logan has to resist the urge to jump a little when he arches a brow and drags his eyes up and down Logan’s broad frame slowly. His hand drops down onto Logan’s shoulder and when Logan doesn’t budge, it moves to cup the back of his neck, and then the other man is dancing again, or rather, they are, and Logan knows he looks like a fool next to him, like a newborn calf lumbering around, awkward on his feet, but it doesn’t matter, not a bit. The blond’s eyes are laughing, and they’re as brilliant a shade of golden brown as his hair, and he guides Logan’s hands to his hips and then turns in Logan’s arms and starts grinding against him and all the breath leaves Logan’s body in one go.

He lifts a hand over his should to touch Logan’s stubbled cheek and turns his head, that nose of his butting into Logan’s and his lips dragging across Logan’s skin as he asks, just loud enough to be heard,

“What’s your name?”

“Hawke,” Logan says automatically, and he can feel the twitch in the other man’s face when he raises a brow at the name. “Er. Logan. Logan Hawke.” He can feel heat rising in his cheeks, but it’s incredibly difficult to focus on petty things like names when the other man is doing that thing with his hips against Logan’s groin.

The blond’s lips curve and Logan can feel it against his skin again, and then he leans his head back further till the back of his skull hits Logan’s shoulder.

“I’m Anders,” he says loudly, when his mouth is closer to Logan’s ear.

“Anders,” Logan repeats, the name soft on his tongue, and he thinks it tastes a little bit like honey, but that could be because Ander’s honey-colored eyes are warm and intent on his own despite the awkwardness of the angle.

And he’s making really ridiculously cheesy romantic comparisons in his head. Again. He’s got to learn to stop doing that.

Then the song is over, abruptly, and Logan feels like the bottom has fallen out of his stomach (that’s not cheesy, that’s just a fact, he tells himself). Anders pulls away and turns around to face him properly.

“Have a drink with me,” Logan blurts, and Anders smiles, his eyes crinkling around the edges as he does so.

Sam Smith’s ‘Like I Can’ starts playing.

“One more dance?” Anders asks, both eyebrows raising, though he doesn’t stop smiling.

“God, yes,” Logan says. “Anything.”

Anders laughs. “Careful,” he says, “I may take you up on that.”


End file.
